Over The Way
by Mnemosyne77
Summary: When two FBI agents come to Haven to apprehend Duke Crocker for Max Hansen's murder, they find small-town quirkiness but no sign of a certain six-foot-two smuggler. Set after Season 1. Republished
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_For Lucy, who saved the child, and _

_For Audrey, who saved the man._

Duke opened the book's cover and looked at the dedication. It'd been a risk writing it. He knew that. Particularly since 'Over the Way' had been such an unexpected bestseller. Maybe he shouldn't have listened to Jack when he'd come up with the idea. Or maybe he should have changed his mind once he'd sobered up.

Still, he was never a man to turn down a chance to make a buck and going straight had put a rather significant dent in his income. Why not use the experience to fill that hole? Work what you have. That was always his motto, anyway.

In retrospect, the dedication was a bit… intimate. He wasn't sure how Audrey would react when she read it. Or Nathan for that matter. He'd written it because it was, to his mind, true and because he didn't want to give the impression, however obliquely, that Lucy and Audrey were one and the same. There were some things the world was not ready for. And some things that were so Haven the world had no right to them anyway.

He flipped the hard cover closed and looked at the glossy jacket. A blurred photo of himself on the boardwalk by the Marina looked back at him; painting an illusion of his disappearance.

Above his dark brown curls and olive skin, the bright blue shirt disappearing into the blue of the ocean behind him, the words O_ver the Way_ were written. And in the bottom left hand corner, _By Jack Pistone and Duke Crocker_.

He gave a small tight grin and laughed in disbelief. Duke Crocker: author. How on Earth did that happen?

Then he settled down and slowly opened the book.


	2. Chapter 1

_What are you going to charge him with? Wilful misuse of geology?  
><em>Audrey Parker

* * *

><p>Max Hansen was dead.<p>

Haven had killed him.

At least that's what the somewhat pragmatic residents of the town had decided.

The evidence box was in storage now; the tape wound around the witness statements, coroner's report, geologist's report, fire department's report and every other report that could be obtained from anybody that would help Haven PD explain to the Feds that the death was essentially unexplainable.

Reports in which FBI special agents Jack Pistone and Don Cooper were completely uninterested. They walked into the Haven police station and surveyed the room with some surprise. Expecting military grey and bustling activity, they found instead wooden panels, one chain-smoking, frizzy-haired dispatch operator and two relatively-young detectives eating chocolate cupcakes with vanilla icing.

The woman – small and blonde with her hair raked up into a ponytail and seemingly absorbed in paperwork– had frosting on her nose, while the wiry man was half-heartedly engaged in packing up his desk.

"Um," Jack cleared his throat to attract the two officer's attention.

The man raised one quizzical eyebrow that demanded they identified themselves but, before Jack could speak, the woman bounced up, wiped the frosting off her nose and flipped the paperwork closed.

"Agent Pistone, I presume?" she asked him rhetorically. "And Agent…?"

"Cooper," replied the taller and, as much as Jack refused to admit it, significantly thinner agent, "Don Cooper. We're here about…"

"Duke Crocker," she finished his sentence. "I know, I got the call. Can't say I didn't think it was a strange call. But I got the call."

"Strange?" asked Jack in some confusion, "I was led to understand that it was Haven PD that first questioned Crocker in relation to Hansen's death. The Bureau is just following up your investigation."

"A completed investigation," interjected the man.

"And you are?" Don asked him, somewhat forcefully.

"Detective Wuo… Police chief. Wuornos. Nathan Wuornos."

"Well, Chief Wuornos, as I understand it, the federal coroner disagrees with your ME. The Bureau chief in Boston has ordered Duke Crocker's arrest for the murder of Max Hansen. That order came through two weeks ago. No arrest has been forthcoming…"

"Because we couldn't find him," interjected the woman, calmly. "And my name's Audrey, by the way. Audrey Parker. But you can call me Detective. For now."

"Well, _Detective," _continued Don. _Great_, he thought, _a Fed versus small town police pissing contest. Typical. Sometimes I think these hicks watch too many movies_, "we're here to see if we can track his movements and work out where he went."

"And, when you find him, what precisely are you going to charge him with?" asked Parker with an ironic laugh, "wilful misuse of geology with an intent to kill?"

"Voodoo?" suggested Wuornos, turning his attention to her.

Parker shook her head and wolfed down the last bit of her cake, stopping for a moment to lick her fingers, "In voodoo you need a doll."

"Detective Parker, if you don't mind," interrupted Cooper, "we're just doing what we've been instructed. This is a federal case. We're only talking to you out of courtesy and because we know that these things work better with local knowledge. So...?"

Parker and Wuornos exchanged an inscrutable look and Parker nodded. Wuornos went back to his unenthusiastic packing and the Detective gestured at the cake box on her desk.

"Cup cake? They're fresh."

Pistone and Cooper shook their heads as Parker made a call to the evidence room and then picked up a file from the pile in front of her.

"On March 3rd, the FBI issued a warrant for Duke Crocker's arrest and put out a statewide APB. We received the order at 3:42pm and instituted a roadblock around Haven at 3:49pm. Then I went to Duke's boat to apprehend him. The suspect was not there and his belongings were missing as well. There was evidence that he had packed in a hurry. Chief Wuornos and I then conducted a search of Duke's usual haunts but failed to locate him.

"At 5:13pm on March 4th, we informed the FBI that we had been unable to make the arrest and forwarded to them at the time our original evidence that showed that Max Hansen had died of natural, albeit unusual, causes."

"Unusual?" Pistone inquired.

"You don't know?" asked Wuornos incredulously, "How can you investigate a murder when you don't know anything about the case."

Cooper took a quick, deep, anger-nullifying breath and replied calmly, "We're not _investigating_ anything, Chief. We're here to apprehend. That's it. That is the extent of our brief."

"And you're not interested in whether he actually committed the crime?"

"That's for the normal legal process to determine. Look, I know that Crocker is a local and it's natural for you to feel protective..."

Wuornos and Parker both gave an amused grunt that only threw him off his stride for a moment.

"...but with all due respect that's not your job."

"Trust me," said Nathan, throwing the last of his papers into the box, "if I could pin Watergate on Crocker I would. Hell, I'd be happy to blame him for global warming if I could wing it. He's always guilty of _something_. But, as much as I was hoping and wishing, he wasn't guilty of this."

Cooper and Pistone simply stared silently at them both, tired of the argument. The stoic federal-agent silent treatment was a tactic they'd found often worked wonders in situations like this. To their increasing consternation, Wuornos and Parker simply stood there and stared back; eyebrows raised in an almost-identical quizzical pose.

The four stayed like that for nearly thirty seconds before Pistone cracked and cleared his throat.

"Detective Parker, I know you've already searched Haven. We'd be grateful if we could retrace your investigation."

She pondered this for a moment before saying, "Sure. I'll get the truck."

A chubby uniformed officer appeared behind her with an evidence box.

"Thanks Tony," she said brightly, not noticing the amused glance he swapped with Wuornos before he nicked a cup cake and headed back out of the room.

"It's Dave," he prompted her in a loud whisper once the officer had left the room.

"Damn." She came round and placed the box on the desk Wuornos was standing behind.

"Evidence from the Hansen case. You can use this desk. Nathan's moving into his office any minute now."

"Yep," he replied, unenthusiastically, "this is me. Moving."

She squeezed his hand briefly, then turned around, grabbed the keys to the truck and gestured to the two agents to follow her.


	3. Chapter 2

_Let's just say… Haven's a little superstitious._

Audrey Parker

* * *

><p>Jack Pistone considered the gutted road in front of him and reflected that it had already been a somewhat… unusual day. He and Don had been forced to take the red eye and had then had their first dose of small-town weirdness when the car hire places in Bangor had refused to rent them a vehicle unless they paid a special Haven insurance premium. Then they'd met the most laconic small-town cops since laconic small-town cops first become a trope. And now they were looking at a large crack in the ground.<p>

"It's a large crack in the ground," he ventured, although he wasn't entirely sure why he was stating the obvious. Some sleep-deprived part of his brain wondered if perhaps they were looking at it because the Detective hadn't worked that out yet.

Parker crouched down beside the crack and then gave them a thoughtful look.

"This is how Max Hansen died. Shouldn't still be here of course. Town's having some fight with somebody about fixing it. But there it is."

"So, you're saying that… Max Hansen was swallowed by a crack in a ground?" Jack said incredulously.

"Just opened up beneath him. Boom. Goodbye, Max Hansen."

"So, what caused it?" asked Jack.

Parker shrugged, "Witnesses say ground just cracked open."

"But how?" Jack persisted. "Was it an earthquake? Some other natural phenomenon? Earth...shifting... or something?

"Not according to the geologists. And _they_ talked to the seismologists."

"A bomb?"

Parker nodded slowly, "Yes, it was a bomb. Duke Crocker dug up the road, planted a bomb, and then resurfaced the road so no one would notice."

"I'm not appreciating the sarcasm, Agent Parker," Don said sternly.

"Also, the fire department ruled it out," she added and then stood up and stretched out her legs. "Witnesses didn't say there was an explosion. Just... crack...splat."

"So why interview Duke at all?" asked Jack.

Parker simply shrugged. "We had a mysterious death and, until we got all the specialist reports, we had to treat it as such. Duke and Hansen had had a run-in earlier that day. And no one is suggesting Duke wasn't glad to see Hansen dead. Not even Duke. Of course... that's not the big question, Agent Cooper."

"And what's the big question, Detective Parker?"

"What any of this has to do with the Feds. Nathan queried it. Apparently, you have jurisdiction although I'm damned if I can tell why. Max Hansen was an ordinary run-of-the-mill murderer; not a federal prisoner. And he was on parole. I have no idea why the Federal coroner even cared about his autopsy. You want to tell me why you're really here."

"No."

She paused and gave him a reflective look. "Fair enough."

She gestured to the truck. "Come on, I'll take you to Crocker's boat."

They piled into the old blue truck that Jack was beginning to suspect doubled as a rather unusual police vehicle and backed up to a side street that took them around the damage.

The quaint old buildings of the main town rolled past them for a minute or two until they turned one last corner and saw the dazzle of the ocean glimmer in front of them.

"I have to say, this is a beautiful part of the world," Jack noted. "Certainly beats Boston."

Don just grunted. "It smells like fish."

"It's a fishing town," argued Parker, with a short laugh. She smiled at him suddenly, revealing an attractive and relatively-young woman under the facade of cop.

"Fishing's the number one employer after tourism, in one form or another. Fishing is akin to godliness and poaching is the work of the devil."

"Well, we promise not to steal any lobsters," Jake joked and was rewarded when the smile veered to the back seat.

"So, did Duke have many friends in town," he asked her, hoping the small moment of rapport would help improve things.

"Friends? Not many. Duke was the town's resident rakish bad boy. Most people kind of liked him – small town, you know, and he's lived here most of his life – but he was too self-interested to make many friends. There are one or two though. Bill McShaw. Randall Sawyer."

"Can we see them today?"

"Don't see why not. Not even midday and both of them are easily found."

The truck pulled up to stop in a carpark near a jetty where two older men were fishing off the end.

"Strange time of day to be fishing, isn't it boys?" Parker called out to them as she jumped out of the truck.

The two men, one small and dapper in a bowtie and jumper, and the other tall and vaguely dreamy put down their rods and hurried up the pier towards them.

"Oh, we're not trying to catch anything, Detective Parker," said the shorter one, "we're seeing who can cast the furthest. Vince is convinced that he has the best technique..."

"...and Dave seems to think that yelling at the line makes all the difference," the taller one finished. He gave her a hopeful look. "What do you think? You can watch us cast."

Don shot a glance at Jack and whispered, "Fantastic. First the territorial local cops and now we get quirky residents as well. I've seen this show... never did stick around long enough to find out who killed Laura Palmer though."

"Oh, it was..."

"Agents," Parker interrupted them, "this is Dave and Vince Teague. They're the local newspaper guys and they want to ask you a few questions."

"No comment," they both said automatically.

"Oh, that's a shame," said Dave, "it's not often we get FBI agents in Haven. Nothing much exciting happens here. Apart from Max Hansen's death, of course. That was a little bit exciting. Of course, that was obviously a simple act of God."

"God?" said Vince disdainfully. "That was Haven. She didn't want him here. I don't blame her."

Dave rolled his eyes are what was obviously his brother and turned back to Audrey expectantly.

"Ok boys, you go back to your... casting now. If I have time, I'll come back later and adjudicate, ok."

"Thank you, Audrey," Dave thanked her and the two men turned around and headed back up the pier.

"Such a nice girl," floated to them on the wind as they headed down the other end of the marina.

"Sorry about that," Parker said, "a lot of the locals think Max was killed by the town."

"The town?" said Don, obviously having decided the conversation was veering in the wrong direction.

"Well, let's just say… Haven's a little superstitious. And Max was swallowed by a crack in the ground."

"Haven may be superstitious but I'm not, Detective Parker. Main streets don't just crack open and even the Max Hansen's of this world don't just die little more than a day after they're released from prison."

"Fine, fine. I'm just warning you. This is a small town. You might want to take that into account... and here we are. The _Cape Rouge_."

"Wow," exclaimed Jack, "that is a... big boat."

"Yep. Well, if you're a smuggler I guess you need the room."

She hoisted herself on board and gestured broadly.

"Do you want to search the whole thing or...?"

"Your guys already did a thorough search, didn't you?"

"Yeah. We turned up a few items of questionable ownership but that's about all."

"Well, we'll just look at the living quarters then. Bunk. Stateroom. Give us some idea of who he is. Maybe some clues as to where he went."

Parker looked away and then back with a somewhat rueful smile.

"Where he went? Look, I'm sorry if it sounds like I'm telling you how to do your job but Duke obviously left town before the roadblock got put in place. Haven's not that large and if he was still here we'd have found him by now. He's a criminal and a loner who has no family and very few friends. Nothing you find in there is going to help you to work out where he went."

"Humour us, Detective Parker."

"Right." She walked up to the stairway leading to the bridge and hoisted herself up underneath it. "Just give me a minute. He keeps spare keys taped to the bottom of these stairs somewhere. Less messy than breaking in. Ah, here they are."

She dropped back to the ground again. "Knew finding them would come in handy one day. Although not for this. More for the, you know, illegal importation of stolen goods."

She unlocked the door and they moved through and into the bedroom.

"Wow, this place is actually... really nice," Jack remarked, surprised. "It looks like such a rust bucket from the outside."

"Well, Duke did like the finer things in life."

"Definitely been tossed over in a hurry though," Don noted, taking in the unmade bed, open, bare cupboards and drawers, and the odd items of clothing tossed around the wooden-panelled room. "He must have known."

"That's what I was thinking," Jake agreed. "The question is how."

Parker's radio buzzed. "Hey, Audrey honey. You there?"

She picked it up and pressed to talk, gesturing to them to start searching without her.

Jack and Don began to turn over the room; the illuminating verbal insight into small-town policing happening behind them impossible to ignore.

"Yeah, Laverne, I'm here."

"Got tourists up by the old lighthouse again. Someone's called in to say they've moved the hazard signs. If they're not careful, someone's gonna fall in."

"By the time I get up there, Laverne, they'll be long gone." She paused and gave the two agents a quick look, "I'll go up and put the signs back though."

"Thanks hon. Oh, and Dave said to tell you he's done those groceries for you."

"Dave?" Parker asked with an expression of confusion on her face.

"Um... Tony?"

"Oh right, thank him for me. And tell him to just drop them by my place."

"He already has. See you when you get back."

She turned back to the agents and saw Jake leaning over to pick something up that had fallen behind the bed.

"Found anything?"

"I have actually. It's a book. It's um..."

"Moby Dick," Parker finished for him.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"It means Duke left in an even bigger hurry than we thought. He's had that since he was a kid. Doesn't go anywhere without it. Must have dropped behind there and he couldn't find it in time."

Jack opened the battered paperback and looked at the flyleaf.

_Duke,_

_I may have to leave but, no matter what happens, I'll always be here for you and I'll always find a way to protect you. _

_Lucy, 1983. _

"Lucy?"

Parker shrugged. "Never heard him mention a Lucy."

"Not a local?"

"Not that I know of. But I was born end of '83 so I was a little young to know. Duke would have only been about six."

"Do you think he could have gone to find this Lucy?"

"I guess. I'll see if I can find a record of a Lucy around that time. But it's a longshot without a last name. And it was a long time ago."

"We appreciate any help, Detective Parker," Cooper said curtly.

"Yeah, I can tell. So, you finished up here? Stateroom's this way."

"Pshew," whistled Jack as they walked into the stateroom, "this place is larger than my apartment. Guess there's money in smuggling."

"What on Earth is this?" Don called out from the other side of the room.

Jack and Audrey strode across the room to a blackboard set up around the corner from the kitchen.

"A... blackboard," Audrey ventured.

"A blackboard that recently had photos or something stuck to it. And it looks like something's been rubbed out."

Cooper picked up a piece of chalk.

"Let's see if we can find anything," he muttered under his breath as he and rubbed it lightly across the top of the board.

"And bingo," he said as he moved away to let both Jack and Parker see the words 'Max Hansen' writ large on the dark background.

"Isn't that interesting."


	4. Chapter 3

_Today will not involve mysterious geological formations and mad old men. Today will have better food. Today will be a better day._

Jack Pistone

* * *

><p>Jack Pistone rolled over, gave an almost-inaudible groan and threw the covers off as he fumbled for the B&amp;B's scratchy radio alarm. He finally managed to turn the infernal thing off and then stood up and stretched tiredly in the dim light of the room.<p>

Cooper, he thought, was no doubt on his second set of push-ups in the adjacent room to his right after having been for a run. Jack preferred sleep. Actually, the way this investigation was going he preferred a hangover but the greasy spoon in which they'd had dinner hadn't had a liquor license. By the time they'd headed to get takeaway, it had been closed.

He looked at his blurred face in the kitchen mirror and yawned.

"Well, it's a small town," he said to himself wryly before grimacing at the memory of how many times they'd been told that the day before.

Everyone had been very helpful; albeit in a way that wasn't at all helpful. He wondered, as did Don, if some of them weren't protecting Duke despite him not having many friends. Still, that would imply they knew where he'd run to and, unless he'd rung everyone in town before he left, that was a good sign. It meant that his movements could be predicted.

"Today will not involve mysterious geological formations and mad old men," he told his reflection. "Today will have better food. Today will be a better day."

He heard a loud bang from the room on his left and shook his head at the irony. He and Don had booked into _Over the Way_ only to discover it was the same B&B Audrey Parker lived in. Why she lived in a B&B at all hadn't been adequately explained.

"I don't know how long I'll be here," she'd said simply.

"You're not a local?" Jack had asked her and she'd considered the question for a moment before adding that it depended on your perspective and that she needed to go to the old lighthouse to deal with an issue of public safety.

They'd photographed the evidence at Duke's boat even though in Jack's, albeit unstated, opinion something that was once written on a blackboard was not exactly evidence of anything except that Duke knew Max's name. Which they already knew.

Still, Duke had been collecting information on something and Jack had photographed the spaces where items had obviously been fixed on with tape and then pulled off.

They'd locked the boat and clambered out, trying to stop the rust and peeling red paint from staining their expensive suits, and then piled into the truck and headed toward the oft-mentioned 'old lighthouse'.

"Won't take a sec," Parker reassured them, "and then we'll go and see Randall Sawyer. Should be a uniform of course handling something like this but it's a small town. Do what we must."

Jack settled himself into the back seat to enjoy the coastal scenery as the road snaked away from town and around the corner of the bay. Don sat stiffly in the front looking annoyed.

The truck pulled up suddenly and the three piled out of the car and walked over to a set of discarded hazard signs near a pile of rubble. Jack and Don strode to the edge of the promontory and looked across the natural harbour to the other lighthouse and a stately gray building on the shore.

He heard a sound and looked around to see Parker trying to get their attention.

"I want to show you something."

They walked over to where she was aligning the hazard signs around the wood.

"Old lighthouse. Fell down same day Hanson died."

She pulled some of the debris inside and Jack had to admit himself slightly stunned to see the giant crack in the ground below it.

"This happened the same day?" he asked her.

She nodded, "What I've been trying to tell you. These cracks happen. Scientists can't determine tell what causes them but they happen. That day we found three this size."

Cooper gave an exasperated sigh, "Parker, I know you're just trying to educate us but our instructions are very clear. All the evidence will be considered for his arraignment."

Parker nodded, "Then I want all the Bureau's evidence. I want to know what could justify a federal murder charge when there's no murder and the case was never federal."

"Then I suggest you get started on the paperwork but I don't like your luck. Either way, we are here to establish Crocker's whereabouts, track him down and take him into custody. And I don't want to hear another damn word about cracks or geology or the fact that this is a small town. Understood?"

Parker just shrugged. "Fine, just give me a moment to put these signs up and we'll move on."

Jack and Don swapped a look and then stood in an uncomfortable silence while Parker went about her work.

Don eventually shot Jack the signal they used for 'good cop, bad cop'. Jack cleared his throat and said uncomfortably brightly.

"So, it's nearly lunchtime. Where's a good place to eat?"

Parker came up and gestured to the building across the bay.

"The Gull. Best shrimp in town. About the only place to eat if you don't like all your food deep fried or made from some seafood substitute. All the cakes and slices are homemade. Good beer selection too. Great cocktails."

"Sounds great," said Jack.

"Yeah," agreed Parker, "it's a damn shame."

"Excuse me."

She nodded toward the building, "That's Crocker's place. Can't imagine what people would think about you financially supporting someone you're hunting down. Bit hypocritical. Unethical too. Yeah," she finished, looking at them mournfully, "it's a damn shame."

Then she flashed them a quick smile, "Don't worry, though. Rusty Bucket has a deep-fried scallop special tonight. They're not scallops, of course, but there's so much batter it hardly matters. And they have Busch and Budweiser. On tap."

"I actually hate that woman," Don whispered, as Parker gestured to them to get back in the car.

Jack just laughed. Then he thought about his gastronomic needs and winced. He fluttered a hand in the direction of the Gull.

"I don't suppose that we..." and stopped as Don starting shaking his head.

"Damn."

Randall Sawyer lived in a... Jack wracked his brain for a word other than 'ramshackle'. So clichéd. Dilapidated? Too extreme. Decrepit? Ditto. Derelict? That sounded abandoned. Fine, ramshackle it was.

Randall Sawyer lived in what Jack could only describe as a ramshackle old place not far from the centre of the town.

"He's going on eighty so be gentle," Parker counselled them.

"And how does he know Duke?" Pistone asked her. Cooper stared ahead looking even more upright and annoyed. Pissed, Pistone corrected himself. He was pissed.

"Duke's mother ran away when he was about four. Left him with his Dad who only came home from sea to get drunk and neglect him. Never beat him though. At least, not that I've heard. Randall lived next door and used to take care of Duke when his Dad would disappear."

Jack nodded reflectively, "Unfortunately common story for guys with these kinds of criminal histories. They grow up thinking the world is full of selfish bastards so they become one themselves to survive."

Cooper gave a dismissive grunt, "Spare me the psychobabble, Dr Pistone. Some people are just criminals."

"So, what?" Parker ploughed in, "Someone commits a crime you don't ask yourself why? Don't think about the best way to help them? Don't consider that their problem may need an unconventional approach?"

"No. Do the crime. Do the time."

"Pithy. Never heard that one before. Anyway, if Duke contacted anyone when he skipped town it was Randall. He's old and a little bit... um... muddled. He'd worry if Duke didn't tell him he was leaving. Mostly about who was going to clean his gutters."

"So, are you really a doctor?" she added unexpectedly.

Jack nodded, "Of psychiatry. I was originally in profiling but field work called."

"Well," Parker grinned at him, "you're going to _love_ Sawyer."

Sawyer's place was set back on a quarter-acre block with a front yard that looked as if it was, until recently, well-tended.

"Crocker mow his lawn as well?"

"Yep," Parker confirmed.

"Explains why it stopped getting mowed suddenly."

"Get off my lawn!" a voice yelled and an old man shuffled out the door and into the yard waving a shotgun around wildly. He was dressed in a wife beater, striped pyjama bottoms and an old powder blue terry towelling dressing gown.

"I know who you are. Men in black on my lawn. I'm not disappearing like the others."

He stopped and drew the shotgun to shoulder height to point it at them.

"I know you're in league with them. Whispering in the night. Making plans. I won't let you mess with my brain."

"Oh," sighed Cooper, "you've got to be kidding me. A member of the tin foil hat brigade."

"It's ok, Randall," Parker interjected soothingly, "it's me."

Sawyer looked momentarily confused and then dug into the pocket of his dressing gown and pulled out a pair of glasses. He shoved them awkwardly on his lined face and squinted at Audrey. A relieved look washed across his face and he lowered the shotgun.

"Oh, it's you, Lucy. I thought they'd finally come for me."

Parker walked up to him and put her hands gently on his arms.

"It's Audrey Parker, Randall. Remember?"

"Of course. I'm not blind, you know."

"I know," Parker smiled at him. "Now, why don't you give me the shotgun and let me take you inside. These men need to talk to you about something."

"Are they... from the Government?"

"Yes, they're FBI. But it's ok. I checked them out. They have nothing to do with the aliens."

"Are you sure?"

"Completely."

Sawyer grunted at them and then handed the gun to Parker. She took his arm and started helping him back into the house.

"Now, Randall, what did I tell you about taking the shotgun out of its case?" she said as the two agents followed her into Jack's place.

"I should call you and you'll come over and take it out for me," he admitted.

"You can't keep threatening people with it, Randall, okay? Now, I don't want to have to take your licence off you but I will if you don't keep the gun locked away."

"Need it to protect myself."

"Well, that's my job. So let me do it, alright?"

"Yes, Lucy."

"Right. Now, why don't you make these nice agents some tea and we can talk about Duke."

"Duke? Duke's gone. Rang me and told me."

Cooper's mood picked up at that.

"When was this?"

"Don't know. Not sure." He sat down at his old wooden dining able and looked at Detective Parker, "What day is today?"

"It's Thursday, Randall," she answered.

"Humph. Well, it's wasn't Thursday," he told them. "Wasn't Sunday either. Sunday's cleaning day. Could have been before Sunday..."

Parker gestured at Cooper that the timeframe was unlikely to get any clearer than that.

"What did he say?" Parker asked him.

"Said he'd had to leave town and wouldn't be able to do my gutters. Do you think Nathan will do my gutters?"

"I'll ask him. What else did he say?"

"Said he asked that blonde girl from the Gull to bring me dinner. She's been coming round every night. Nice girl. No cake though." He gave the agents a disappointed look and added with a wink, "It's Duke make the cakes. Don't tell anyone. Doesn't want anyone to know he bakes. Know what he says?"

Parker smiled at him affectionately, "Bad-ass tattooed smugglers don't bake."

Sawyer broke down in a fit of wheezy unhealthy laughter that turned into a rattling hollow cough.

"Where's your oxygen, Randall?" Parker asked him and he gestured to the next room.

"Did he say where he was calling from?" Cooper prompted him.

Randall shook his head, still unable to breathe properly. Parker came back and placed a mask over his face and turned on the oxygen tank. Randall inhaled several times and his breathing went back to normal.

"It's getting worse, Audrey," he said to her sadly.

"Emphysema?" Jack asked.

"Yes, yes, but not that," he shot Jack an irritated look. "The other thing, Audrey. It's getting much worse."

"I know, Randall."

"It's the aliens. They came last time, you know. And they're here again."

"It's not aliens, Randall, I swear."

"Either way, it's getting worse. I can't sleep. Can't sleep at all. The voices. Whispering. Whispering."

"I'll do my best to help. Now, why don't you go and lie down and I'll get the nurse to come and see you this afternoon."

He nodded. "They don't whisper in the afternoon."

He turned and walked slowly toward the hallway. Then he stopped and turned and gave the agents a thoughtful look.

"It was a payphone. I thought that was odd. Duke always has a phone. But it was a payphone because it kept asking him for more money."

"So, not a local call?" asked Cooper.

Randall shook his head. "And he was sick or something."

"Sick?"

He nodded tiredly. "Didn't really sound like Duke at all."

"Is that so?" Cooper murmered.


	5. Chapter 4

_Duke fancies himself a lone wolf. Running free and... crapping over everything._

Nathan Wuornos

* * *

><p>Jack left his room and stood for a moment stretching in the warm autumn sun coming in over the water and onto the B&amp;B's balcony. Haven truly was a beautiful little town.<p>

The door to his left opened and Parker came out dressed in practical navy trousers and a striped cotton long-sleeved top. Her gun was already holstered to her hip and she was carrying a clear plastic Tupperware dish.

"Cookies," she told him, somewhat redundantly, "I couldn't sleep last night."

"I guess bad ass tattooed smugglers aren't the only ones who bake," Jack said with a grin and was glad to be rewarded with a laugh. Don and Audrey's relationship may have been quickly and permanently tarnished but he at least could keep on her good side. And, he found himself thinking this morning, it was a damn good side. Pity there was obviously something going on between her and Wuornos.

"So, scatter gun tactics again today?" she asked him somewhat mischievously. Thankfully Don wasn't there to hear her or their argument would have preceded breakfast.

He shrugged, "Bill McShaw didn't tell us much we didn't already know. Nor did the staff at the Gull. Tracy Garrick confirmed she got a call from a payphone asking her to deliver food to Randall. We're pretty much at square one."

"Well, you've only been here one day," Parker said, "And you never know, someone might have seen Duke leave before the road block went up. Speaking of... are we ever going to be able to take that thing down? We're a little short staffed manning it for this long."

"I'm surprised you didn't ask earlier."

"I was trying to be civil."

He paused, momentarily struck by how she'd look when she wasn't being civil, and was vaguely terrified by the thought.

"We can't risk Crocker looping back and into town while we're searching elsewhere," he explained evenly

"Do you really think if Crocker came back to town we wouldn't know?" Parker asked him, "I mean, this is..."

"...a small town," he finished with a smile. "So I hear."

She gestured to the B&B's parking lot, "Need a lift? Nathan will be picking me up in a moment."

Pistone shook his head, "Don will be out soon. We're going to grab some breakfast and pop into the station afterward."

"Ok then. I'll see you when I see you."

She hoisted the Tupperware container onto her hip and headed off down the stairs.

"Oh, Parker," he called after her. "Lucy? Any luck?"

"None yet, sorry," she called back. "No last name. Twenty-seven years ago. But I'll keep looking."

He nodded and turned back to the fantastic view.

"Daydreaming, Agent Pistone?"

He jumped slightly at the voice and turned to Agent Cooper who'd just come out of his room.

"Just thinking about the case. And geology. And how I didn't get to eat what the Haven Herald calls 'the best shrimp in the state'. And how this is apparently a small town."

Cooper grimaced, "Well, if today doesn't pan out we'll join the search in Boston."

"Have you given any thought to what I said last night?" Jack asked his partner as they headed up towards their rental car.

"No. And I won't be. Our job is clear."

"Come on, Don. Haven PD wants to know why the Feds are here. It doesn't bother you that even _we_ don't know the answer to that question. Parker's right. Crocker did not kill Max Hansen. Something stinks."

"As I said last night: a warrant was issued for his arrest and we were asked to action it. That's all we need to know."

"And you're okay with that?"

"The FBI does not arrest people for murder for no reason. If you're suggesting some sort of conspiracy...?"

"Of course not. I just... everything we've seen down here tells us he didn't do it."

"If Crocker's innocent, he'll be found innocent. Let's just do our damn job and then get out of this godforsaken town. And hope we have a better day than yesterday."

"And better food," said Jack mournfully, thinking that the hasty sandwich they'd had for lunch the day before was the best meal of the day.

* * *

><p>Having left the old lighthouse and gone back to the station, lunch was a hastily-grabbed sandwich in the station as Don and Jack poured over the evidence from the Max Hansen case and Duke's police record.<p>

Don had been resistant to the idea at first but Jack had convinced him that answers may be found in the documents somewhere, particularly after Sawyer's surprisingly-useful information about the phone call.

"That report on Sawyer's number just came in from the Bureau," the chubby uniformed officer named Dave announced, a fax clutched in one hand and a cake box in the other.

"Thanks Tony!" said Parker brightly and grabbed the paper, bringing it over to the agents. Dave simply looked amused, put what looked like a carrot cake down on Parker's desk and then left.

"Says here Sawyer got a call about a week ago from… Boston," Parker said and handed it over to Pistone. "Cake?"

Cooper and Pistone shook their heads.

"So, phone call from Boston," said Jack.

"Which Crocker obviously got someone else to make," noted Cooper.

"Looks like it," agreed Parker, "but does that mean he's not in Boston or he is in Boston and he wants you to think he's not?"

"I don't know," Jack admitted, "Sawyer's a little…" he waved his hands near his ears to indicate a general level of craziness.

"He's a bit... troubled," Parker chided him gently.

"Troubled. Right. This little misdirect would rely on him not being so muddled. He gave the game away by telling us Crocker sounded strange. Crocker may have known he'd do that."

"I think we're ascribing an unwarranted level of intelligence to him, don't you?" Cooper said.

"On the contrary," Jack corrected him, "his file suggests he's very intelligent. He just lacks focus."

"Psychobabble. So," Don said, changing the subject back, "Crocker may or may not be in Boston. I'll put out an APB and inform the local police. Does he know anyone in Boston? Old girlfriend, fence, family friend, business contact?"

"No." It was Nathan, coming into the room from his new office and settling down on the edge of Parker's desk. "Not that we know, anyway. Duke fancies himself a lone wolf. Running free and... crapping over everything."

Parker gave him a semi-amused look and punched him affectionately on the shoulder.

"What about the Grey Gull finances?" Cooper asked him, "Would forensic accounting turn up anything there."

"Doubt it," said Parker, "Duke has his reasons for keeping the books clean."

"Which are?" asked Jack, interested.

"It was practically given to him by a friend. Bill McShaw. We'll talk to him this afternoon. If he lost the Gull because it was being used for laundering or something like that, it would hurt Bill. Duke wouldn't do that."

"If you say so," muttered Nathan. He cleared his throat and said louder, "I wouldn't put anything past Duke. But in the case of the Gull, I've kept my eye on the books since Duke became the owner. They're clean."

"You have?" Parker asked him, surprised.

"Yep."

"Guess that's another dead end."

"Yes, they're getting disturbingly common," said Cooper.

"Wait," Audrey said suddenly, a thoughtful expression on her face, "I think I remember Duke telling me something about... having gone to Harvard for a semester or two. Maybe it was Brown... definitely Ivy League. No, I think it was Harvard."

"Really?" Nathan asked, obviously surprised, "I thought he... well, he left town for quite a long time. He mostly went travelling but I think he did some study as well."

"If he made friends while at Harvard, he might have gone to Boston," Jack noted.

"Umm," Coooper was non-committal, "let's talk to McShaw and the employees of the Gull before we make a decision. But if we don't turn up anything, we'll head up to Boston."

He slammed shut the paper file he was reading and stood up, militantly buttoning his suit jacket and smoothing it down.

"So, what can you tell me about McShaw?"

Parker and Wuornos exchanged an unreadable look and then Audrey went and grabbed the keys to the truck, waving them at the agents.

"Tell you in the car."

They walked out and piled into the truck, Jack managing to ride shotgun for once. Parker pulled out from the curb and began to drive through town toward Bill McShaw's carpentry workshop.

"Do you think we could stop somewhere and get cake?" Jack asked suddenly.

"Cake?" Don asked disbelievingly.

"Everyone keeps talking about cake. Now I want some."

"There was cake in the station," Audrey said. "You don't... you don't want me to turn back so you can get some, do you?"

"I guess not," Jack submitted glumly. "I guess not."

* * *

><p>Jack and Don placed their cutlery back into their breakfast plates and wiped their mouths of grease. Jack briefly wondered if he'd wandered into a Monty Python skit about sausages and lots and lot of spam but thought better of voicing his objections out loud.<p>

Having now eaten at the Old Lighthouse Cafe for both dinner _and_ breakfast, the affable, if somewhat sautéed, owner, Fern, had adopted them as regulars and was currently engaged in trying to press upon them their fourth coffee refill.

"Be here for dinner tonight, boys," she called to them as she went back to the kitchen. She pointed over to the cafe's large cork message board filled with photos, newspaper clippings and flyers, "We're having a ukulele player come in. Special is shepherd's pie with chips and gravy. And you get a free Coke. Post mix!"

"I'm in gastronomic hell," Jack noted.

"It's just food, Jack," Don said primly.

"Then why have you left half of yours?"

"Because I don't want to drop dead of a heart attack simply because I spent a few days in Maine. Mind you, I don't mind a bit of ukulele."

"You're kidding?"

"My wife likes Ingrid Michaelson."

"Huh."

"So, are we going to interview these people or do you want to sit here and open up further about our musical tastes?"

"Shouldn't we go to the station first?"

"Oh, I think we can do fine in Haven without the local PD helping us. There's no need to bother them at the station."

"No need to worry. The station came to you," a voice drawled out behind them.

"Detective Parker," Cooper greeted her, "how thoughtful of you to intercept us like this."

"Don't mention it. So, we doing this on foot today?"

"Sounds fine," Cooper managed through increasingly clenched teeth.

"Good. I assume you've met Fern." Parker waved at the pink-cheeked brunette currently frying chips in the kitchen and was given an enthusiastic grin and wave in return. "Fern's lived here for the last 40 years. Knows everybody. Fern, you know where Duke's gone?"

Fern just shrugged and turned back to her chips.

"One down," remarked Parker, "ten thousand to go."

Jack bit back a laugh as he followed Cooper's ramrod straight figure out the door and into the main street.


	6. Chapter 5

_My job is to protect the people I've sworn to protect no matter who they are or what they may have done in the past._

Audrey Parker

* * *

><p>The office of the Haven Herald smelled of old wood and mouldy newspaper clippings and was cluttered with the detritus of 50 years of accumulated knowledge. It was their tenth interview that morning and Jack was already tired of having the same conversation over again.<p>

No one knew where Duke was but they had any number of wild theories about where he'd gone. Norma from the dress shop believed he'd been picked up in the early hours by Russian arms dealers who'd taken him to be a pirate in the Black Sea.

Norma appeared to have the devastating duo of an active imagination and a prevalence for bad romance novels and appeared to fancy the idea of a rackish Duke Crocker ravishing maidens he'd captured in a sea battle.

"It's 2010, not 1610," Don said flatly. "The only pirates are in Somalia and they do very little ravishing." Parker had had to leave the store early in the conversation.

Don's muttered rhetorical question of whether it could get any worse was soon answered when Rosemary shut her bakery rather than talk to them.

"Sorry," Parker apologised, "she's mad about the baking."

"Ah," Jack intuited, "cops used to be her best customers?"

"Pretty much. She's unlikely to know anything about Duke, anyway. She wouldn't talk to him for the same reason. McShaw's used to buy from her in the old days."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman whose pastries have been scorned," misquoted Jack and was rewarded with a broad Parker smile.

She pointed up the street to a little music store.

"There's a place to try. Billy Western. He and Duke used to do some business together until Billy started trafficking."

"Drugs?"

"Yeah. Hard stuff. Duke wouldn't work with him when he found out. Lucky too, 'cause Billy got caught and got 10 years."

"Is there any point talking to him?" asked Don. "I can't imagine he'll be keen on cooperating with the Feds."

"He got out and got straight," Parker argued. "He was a little... troubled... earlier this year and I helped him out. He owes me one."

"You helped him? With a legal problem?" Don's disbelief was evident. "If you don't mind me saying you don't seem very interested in actually stopping crime, Detective Parker. You do know that the criminals are the one we're supposed to be working _against_."

Parker threw him the first genuinely frosty look Jack had seen her give to anyone.

"Are you telling me my job now, Agent Cooper? I know my job. My job is to protect the people I've sworn to protect no matter who they are or what they may have done in the past. Now, I know you get impatient with it, but this is a small town and it requires a small town approach. If someone needs help, I'm going to help them. Understand?"

Don nodded stiffly but still didn't walk toward the store.

"If he and Duke are estranged then it seems unlikely he would have told him anything."

Parker shook her head slightly in exasperation, "It's your case, Agent Cooper. You talk to whomever you want to talk to. Or not talk to. So, Marion and Conrad's antique store is right over here. They're not criminals, although I did suspect Conrad of murder once so you may want to avoid him to."

Don ignored her and began walking in the direction she'd pointed.

Marion and Conrad seemed more interested in showing them Marion's engagement ring and planning their upcoming wedding than answering questions and the three got caught up in a rather awkward discussion of bridesmaids and materials. Audrey, Jack noticed, was very bad at small talk and didn't seem comfortable talking about something that wasn't work-related. Marion didn't seem to care and kept on with outlining the guest list.

"If you do find Duke, let him know he's welcome to come as well," Marion offered, "but honestly, I don't like your luck. He was always a terror."

"You know him well?"

She shook her head, "He's seven years younger than me but I was his reading tutor when he was in the first grade. He was sweet but mischievous. He had so much energy and no one who cared enough to set any rules. Randall tried but he was already raving about the whispering aliens. Oh, and there was Lucy of course."

"Lucy?" Don perked up at the reference, "You knew Lucy?"

"Only that Duke talked about her constantly. I think she was the only one in this town who actually cared about the poor little kid. He told me once that his Dad hit him and Lucy threatened him and his Dad never touched him again."

"Do you know her last name? Her age? Anything?"

"I'm sorry, I never met her and I didn't tutor Duke for that long."

"Well, thank you for your time, Marion, and congratulations."

"Thank you and you're welcome."

"Oh, Audrey," she called as they went to walk out of the store. She pointed to her ring and mouthed, "Thank you."

Audrey nodded and they left the store.

"You got them together, did you?" asked jack.

"Yeah. Sort of. I mean, Conrad was always waiting in the wings but he always thought she'd only see him as a friend. Marion had some... troubles... when I first came to town. When the case was over I gave Conrad a nudge."

"Small town police work at its finest," noted Jack.

"Oh, please, not you too," Don mumbled.

"So, where to now?" Jack asked Audrey, ignoring Don's quiet hissy fit.

"Well, I already talked to Gladys in the butcher when this whole thing began and her theories make Norma's seem sane. And G rated. So, we should go to the Herald and talk to the Teagues."

"Our quirky casters?"

"Great," muttered Don. He cleared his throat then, "Let's go, then. But I have to say, it's looking more like Boston is the best option."

"I agree," said Jack, "but we've given ourselves today so let's use it."

The Herald still ran its own press; the rattling shaking thing grinding away in the corner as Cooper and Pistone tried to interview the two old journos who seemed determined to have their questions answered instead.

"So, do you have any idea where Duke could have gone?" Don asked them for the third time, the gradual stiffening in his voice indicating his annoyance with the quixotic pair.

"To sea, I would think," speculated Vince, "Duke was a smuggler _and_ he lived on a boat. I wouldn't be surprised if he stole a boat and left Haven that way."

"I think Audrey would have checked to see if a boat was stolen before she came to _us_ for information, Vince," David said scathingly.

"First thing I checked," Parker said calmly, obviously used to dealing with the two, "and I think we would have noticed if he took the Cape Rouge."

"Oh yes, she's not hard to miss," agreed Vince. "Did you check to see if he's used his credit cards or checked into a hotel somewhere under one of his aliases?"

Don looked up at that, "Duke has aliases?"

Vince and Dave looked confused, "Don't all criminals?"

Dave looked at Vince, "I would have thought the FBI would have known that."

"So, you don't actually know of any aliases?"

"Why would Duke tell us his aliases?" Dave asked them seriously.

"He'd want to keep them a secret," added Vince wisely.

"Right. Well, in your investigative work have you heard of anything about Duke; where he might have gone, whether he knew anyone who might hide him?"

"Sorry," said the brothers, one after the other.

"Did you know Max Hansen well?" Jack asked them.

"Everybody knew Max," Dave said, "He murdered that poor family and got life in Shawshank for it. And that's because those were the only murders they could prove. They should never have given him parole. And he should never have come back to Haven."

"She passed judgment on him for it," pronounced Vince, "Haven didn't want him here and when he didn't leave, she dealt with him."

"And good riddance," Dave finished.

"That's all very well," said Don tiredly, "but it doesn't really help."

"I'm sorry, Agent Cooper, but we only talked to Duke if he ever made the paper," explained Vince.

"And that was rare," added Dave.

"Ok, but... did you ever know a Lucy? Back in 1983? I know it was a long time ago but apparently she and Duke were close."

"Do you have a last name?" asked Dave.

"No, sorry."

"We'll check our archives for that year but with no last name..."

"I know," Don said, "you don't like my luck. I don't suppose you ever met her?"

"Sorry," Vince apologised.

"It doesn't ring a bell," added Dave.

"Very well," said Don with a conclusive snap of his notebook. "Thank you for your time."

They walked out onto the street and stood for a moment in the sun as their eyes adapted from the gloom of the Herald.

"I think I've just about..." Don began when Parker's radio went off.

"Hey Audrey, you there honey?"

"Yeah Laverne, go ahead."

"Think you and the guys should come back to the station. There's something here you need to see."

"All of us, Laverne?"

"Definitely."

The three officers entered the station ten minutes later and went straight through to Audrey's desk; nearly hidden by a massive flower arrangement of blue, white and yellow irises.

"We came back because you got flowers?"

"Not just any flowers," said Nathan, coming into the room from his office. He had a small piece of card in his hand and a mildly-amused look on his face.

He handed the card to Cooper, "It's for you."

Cooper glanced at the blue paper in his hand and groaned.

"Oh, now he's just pissing me off."

He handed it over to Pistone who took one look and began to laugh.

_Dear Jack and Don_

_Thinking of you. Good luck in all your endeavours._

_Duke Crocker._

Jack looked at Don and gave him an amused look.

"Oh come on, you have to admit. The guy has balls."

"I," began Don and paused for emphasis, "am going to nail this a-hole if it's the last damn thing I do. How was it ordered?"

"I called the store," Nathan answered, "and they say it was an internet order using one of Duke's credit cards."

"Good, that's exactly why we didn't cancel them. Where was the terminal?"

"I had the order tracked and the trail ends at an internet cafe. In Boston."

"Nailed him," gloated Don, "Let's get to Boston."


	7. Chapter 6

_Jesus H Christ, this is the bloody case from hell!_

Don Cooper

* * *

><p>Jack and Don had never been so glad to get back to civilisation. They'd set up a line of communication between themselves, Boston PD and the Marshals, lodged a progress report with Burrell in the Boston field office and then Jack had gone to dinner at the finest restaurant that would accept a reservation at such late notice and Don had gratefully gone home to his wife and two teenage girls.<p>

And rang Jack two hours later.

"If I hear _Rill Rill_ one more time, I'm going to murder my children."

"No court in the land would convict you," Jack commiserated.

"Sixteen six six six and we fell apart? What does that even mean?"

"No clue," Jack said truthfully and gestured to the waitress to put his main meal in front of him. He'd already rather gleefully attacked a plate of marinated shrimp.

"Anyway, listen, I've been thinking about that road block in Haven," Don began, "Wuornos wants to take it down. Says it's a resource issue and it's not needed now Crocker's obviously left town.

"Umm," Jack said, taking a bite of his twice-cooked duck and closing his eyes momentarily in pleasure. He took a long swallow of the 2006 Tasmanian Pinot Noir he'd splurged on and then continued, "I don't think we should. In fact, I've drafted a request to the Bangor office to provide backup so Haven PD isn't doing all the work. That should quieten Wuornos."

"You think Crocker's still in Haven?"

"No. But I think his big big boat and his highly-successful restaurant that we never got to bloody eat at is. We're pretty sure he's in Boston now so we need to keep him here. If we take the road block down he could bolt back home, pack up properly, and we'd never find him."

"So you think he only made it as far as Boston because he wants to swing back and get his stuff? Well, you're the psych."

"That I am. Speaking of which, I had a strange conversation with our own Assistant Special Agent in Charge when I filed our report."

"Why? What did Burrell have to say?"

"That he thought the Crocker case was corruption, not murder, and that's why the FBI were involved."

"What?" Don barked, "But he was the one who gave us the brief and told us to track Crocker down."

"No, he was the one who sent us to White. White gave us the brief. White's in Public Corruption. Burrell had no idea there was a warrant out for Crocker's arrest. He thought we were going to question him, not bring him in."

"Jesus H Christ, this is the bloody case from hell. So, what does he want us to do?"

"Keep following the brief as directed while he works out what's going on."

"You didn't share your little 'Duke is innocent' theory with him, did you?"

"No, but I was tempted."

"Good. Let's just keep our heads down and our mouths shut until this whole thing works itself out."

"I don't know, Don. I told you. This thing stinks."

"Umm," replied Cooper non-committally. Jack ordered himself another glass of wine.

"So, what kind of corruption did he think Duke was involved in?" Don asked him.

"Apparently, there's some evidence that a certain parole board was bribed to release a certain prisoner that was being held for murder up at Shawshank."

"Let me guess. Max Henson."

"The one and only," Jack confirmed.

"And as soon as he was, he went straight home and straight to Duke."

"It's certainly interesting," Jack said understatedly.

"Well, either way, we need to find the slippery bastard."

"You do know how much your language has deteriorated over the last few days don't you, Agent Cooper?"

"Fuck yes. And if we don't find this asshat in the next few days, it's going to deteriorate fucking further."

"Hahaha. Well, I'll see you tomorrow at Harvard. Plenty of swearing there. I have local PD scouring the video footage of the internet cafe. While they're doing that, we'll go and learn all about Crocker's Ivy League days."

"Can't wait. Enjoy your dinner."

"Enjoy _Sleigh Bells_."

"Bloody teenagers. They used to be so sweet."

"Yeah well, so did my ex-wife. People change. Deal with it."

"See you tomorrow."

"Ciao."

* * *

><p><em>One week later<em>

"So," said Jack, settling down in the cafe and ordering what he suspected was going to be his last espresso from imported beans in a long while, "Boston was a misdirect."

Cooper slammed shut the report from the Boston Division's Cyber Crime Unit.

"It appears so. I'm beginning to think you were right and I severely underestimated Duke's intelligence. We've wasted days looking at internet cafe footage and combing Harvard and it doesn't look like he ever was in Boston. Whatever Ivy League school Parker thought he went to, it wasn't Harvard. Thank the Lord we still have that road block up and being manned by Feds."

"And the report?" Jack asked him.

"Have a read of it for yourself. Their conclusion will be of particular interest to you. I feel like going down there and reminding them that it's 2010 and not the damn dark ages."

Pistone picked up the report, flicked to the conclusions section and found he could not stop his jaw from practically hitting the table.

"How the hell is that possible?"

"Language, Jack," Don mockingly reprimanded him, "you're starting to sound like me."

"Their search for the florist order was deliberately rerouted to the internet cafe and they didn't even notice?"

"They have no idea where Crocker made his online order for the florist. They can't even narrow down the _continent_. All the evidence says the order came from Boston. Except it didn't. They have the security footage for the cafe for the past month and Boston PD watched every damn frame. He was never there. When Cyber Crime looked closer at the trace, it was following a planted trail."

"The transaction was made to look like it came from Boston when it didn't," Jack paraphrased, "and they can only speculate how it was done. They don't know of any hacker who could do this. It's beyond anyone's known capabilities at this stage."

"See, hackers bounce their point of attack all around the place. If they're good, Cyber Crime can't find them but at least they can tell _why_ they can't find them. This transaction just... appeared. Read out the last line. It's the best."

"If they didn't know better, they'd... think that... this was _magic_."

"Magic, Jack! Magic! An FBI report just used the word magic."

"You're losing it, Don. You know that, don't you?"

"Magic!"

"So, what do we do?" Jack asked him, sliding the other man's coffee away from him and ordering him a camomile tea. _Probably best to keep him away from caffeine for a while_, he thought. _And sleeping pills._

"We start at the beginning."

"The beginning of the murder investigation? Haven't we already done that?"

"No," Don said, "we start right at the beginning. If Max Hansen was only freed because someone paid off the parole board then it puts a whole new light on things. Why did Max Hansen come back to Haven? What were his movements? Why did he go and see Duke Crocker in the first place? Duke can't have been more than eight or nine when Hansen got put away. So, if he had something to do with Hansen's release, we need to know why."

"You're right," Jack admitted, annoyed for not seeing it himself, "Hansen came back to Haven and went straight for Duke's boat. And then when he died, Haven PD interviewed him. And only him. Why?"

"The more I look at this case," said Don, "the more I realise that we know absolutely nothing about Duke, or Hansen or... anything. Everyone's been incredibly helpful but no one's told us _anything_. Particularly a certain annoyingly folksy small-town Detective. So, we get everything related to Duke and Hansen, including Wuornos' and Parker's personnel and case files and we go through it all right from the beginning."

"Well," said Jack thoughtfully, "we'll need to get a warrant for the last two but the other ones we have. Haven PD handed them over to us on day one."

"So, let's go."

"Back to Haven it is," said Jack with a grin. "We can check back into the Over the Way B&B right next to your nemesis. And if we hurry, we can make breakfast at the Old Lighthouse. I'm sure Fern will be glad to see us."

"Oh, joy."


	8. Chapter 7

_As far as I know, the only thing Duke knew how to do on a computer was surf the net and use MYOB. And when I say "surf the net", I don't mean Facebook and the New York Times."_

Nathan Wuornos

* * *

><p>Fern was, as expected, happy to see them and they were quickly ensconced in a comfortable, if somewhat greasy booth, while she served them pancakes with maple syrup and icecream.<p>

Don's protestations that he really preferred fruit fell on deaf ears and he looked at the floating pile of melting fat and sugar on his plate with horror.

"At least you can wash it down with all the coffee you can drink," Jack comforted him as he took a swig, "although lighter fluid may actually taste better."

"I'm so glad we came back," Don told him with a grimace.

"And the B&B gave us our old rooms so I get to see Parker coming back from her run every morning, which is a very nice sight to wake up to."

"You and Parker? Seriously? In your dreams."

"Pretty much," Jack agreed.

"I thought you and Sarah were getting back together anyway?"

"Working on it," Jack admitted, "Doesn't mean I can't look."

"Umph," Don replied, scraping everything off his pancakes. "Anyway, she doesn't seem to me like the dating type. Not unless she found somebody bullet proof. Or 'laconic small town cop' proof."

"Ooh, who are we gossiping about?" asked Fern as she came back to refill their cups.

"Not gossiping, speculating," Don clarified for her.

"In Don's world, men don't _gossip_," Jack explained. "We were just… _speculating_… about Detective Parker's love life."

"Ah," Fern said with a knowing look, "you and half of Haven. You can even place a bet on it if you want to."

"You're kidding?" Don exclaimed, vaguely appalled.

"And who would be the main contender?" Jack asked her, curious.

"Odds are running 5 to 1 for Nathan these days."

"Oh, I'll take that bet," Jack said and began rummaging in his wallet for a $10 bill.

"Jack!"

Fern just laughed and took his money. "I'll lay it on for you. Nathan?"

"Any others that are in with a chance?"

"Not right now. 20 to 1 she stays single, though."

"Nathan it is," Jack decided.

Don looked thoughtful, pulled out his wallet and handed her a twenty.

"Single," he said pointedly and looked at Jack, "definitely single."

Jack and Don left the café and headed through the early-morning crowd in the main street; moderately astonished to find themselves greeted by several townspeople like old friends. The two men wound their way past Billy Western's music store to the station where Laverne was still sitting at dispatch, hair frizzy and cigarette lit, a small number of uniformed officers were shuffling papers and the chief of police and his detective were having a very loud argument in his office.

Jack and Don shifted uncomfortably when they realised they could hear every word but didn't know whether to come back later or wait it out.

"...come on, Nathan, it's the right thing to do," Parker's voice floated through the inadequate glass.

"Guess they've rewritten the dictionary then."

"I don't know how, but this is them."

"You're sounding paranoid. Why would they put in so much effort to make this happen?"

"You said it yourself, Nathan. They were trying to make us fly apart and they failed."

"No, I said they were trying to make _us_ fly apart. He is not _us_."

"Yes he is and we need him on our side."

"You can't be serious?"

"Yes, I am. The side he chooses matters. They couldn't recruit him so they're getting rid of him. And we know this is possible. Just look at Howard."

"Possible, maybe. Probable? Audrey, are you sure you're not just...?"

"Just what, Nathan?" Even the agents trying not to eavesdrop could hear the belligerence in her voice.

"Well, you know... you and he..."

"No. No. And you know what? This is my call. Otherwise why am I here?"

Jack finally knocked on the door, opened it and then cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Sorry to interrupt…"

"Back again," Wuornos said, somewhat redundantly. He gave Parker a look that suggested that the argument was nowhere near over.

"Yep," Jack replied, finding Wuornos' monosyllabillism catching.

"Turns out Boston was a bust," Don explained. "We were hoping we could have our desk back. And the files. We're going back to the beginning."

"Sure," Wuornos and Parker said simultaneously, after a small reflective pause.

"I'll just get Tony to bring you the case files," Parker told them.

"Oh, Parker," Pistone called after her, "can you get us all Duke's files as well? Anything he was involved in?"

Parker nodded, "I'll try and round them up."

"So," Nathan said awkwardly, obviously trying to make small talk while they waited. He still seemed a bit worked up over his fight with Parker, "no Duke in Boston. Guess he ran before you got there?"

"No, actually," Cooper told him blandly, "turns out he was never there."

"Then how'd he manage the flowers?" Wuornos asked them. "Give his card to someone else?" Jack took a moment to assess his reaction and decided it was probably genuine.

"Nope," Jack said.

"Tell me, Chief Wuornos," Cooper inquired, "Is Duke a computer guy? Does he have any friends who are computer guys?"

"Computers?" Nathan repeated sceptically, "As far as I know, the only thing Duke knew how to do on a computer was surf the net and use MYOB. And when I say "surf the net" I don't mean Facebook and the New York Times."

"Umm," said Don thoughtfully.

"Files!" a bright voice announced and Dave came into the room with the evidence box.

"Same desk?" he asked them, gesturing to the one they were using before.

"Yes, Dave, thanks," Jack said.

"Call me Tony," he told them with a rueful grin, "It seems to have stuck."

Jack chuckled at that, "So, Tony, what cake do we have today?"

"Hummingbird with buttercream icing. Want a slice?"

"Love one."

"You just had breakfast," Don noted disapprovingly.

"And now I'm having cake," Jack told him and he sat down at the desk and patted the evidence box. "I'm going to need it."

* * *

><p>The station, the two men realised, faced west and the room began to heat up considerably as the day went on. The extra files they'd asked for had also never eventuated and Don was just about to suggest they break for lunch and then harass Parker for the information when Jack gave a loud mmmm and pointed to the file he was looking at.<p>

"Here's something," he said, handing the Max Hansen file to Don, "I'm a bit embarrassed we missed it."

"What's that?"

"The ME on the case. Julia Carr. We never spoke to her."

"Well, we were tracking Duke, not investigating the murder," Don pointed out reasonably.

"Yes, but Parker never suggested it. She dragged us around to talk to just about every damn person in Haven. But not Carr. Why would that be? Could it be because she wouldn't play ball on their little 'protect Duke' conspiracy?"

"Conspiracy?" Don said sceptically, "Really?"

"What has Parker told us in practically every sentence since we got here? Haven is a small town. Small towns band together against outsiders."

"You think she's been trying to tip us off that people are lying to us?"

"Maybe. Maybe she's stonewalling us as well."

"That's a serious accusation, Agent Pistone."

"I'm not saying she's protecting him. You've seen the log. She set up the roadblock as soon as she was informed about the warrant. Even if she'd tipped him off, he would never have gotten out of town quickly enough. But she says her job is to serve Haven. If the people of Haven wanted to protect him..."

"She wouldn't necessarily interfere," Don conceded, "and she'd keep us away from anyone who wouldn't tow the company line."

"Julia Carr."

"It's possible. Let's go." He paused as he stood up from the desk and gave his partner an unusually appreciative look, "Nice work, Agent Pistone."

"Thank you, Agent Cooper," Jack said, surprised and more pleased at the compliment than he cared to admit.

* * *

><p>Knowing little about Julia Carr, apart from her name, Cooper and Pistone were surprised to find themselves directed to a very young woman in jeans and a black sleeveless shirt who was sitting at a computer in the morgue.<p>

They'd had some difficulty navigating the maze-like hospital and were almost certain they'd take a wrong turn when a morgue employee pointed her out.

"Um, Doctor Carr?" Jack asked, convinced they had the wrong person. Weren't doctors older? And wore white coats?

"That's me," the woman confirmed, "Julia Carr. And you're the FBI agents everyone's in a flap about. I was wondering when you'd get to me."

"You were the ME for Max Hansen's death?"

"I issued the death certificate. Cause of death was trauma from a fall."

"And you're sure it was a fall. He wasn't hit with anything."

"Not according to the injuries. It's surprisingly easy to tell if something hit a person or if a person hit something. Max Hansen hit dirt. Hard. Cracked his skull. He would have died quickly. Still, it's nice to know he didn't feel any pain.'

"It was that quick?"

"No. He wouldn't have felt pain because of his condition."

"Condition?"

Carr looked surprised, "Idiopathic neuropathy," she explained. "It means nerve damage arising from an unknown cause. Basically, Hansen couldn't feel anything. Hot, cold, pain. The nerve endings in his skin simply didn't work. It's rare but seems to be genetic. His son has it too."

"Max Hansen has a son?" Don asked disbelievingly.

"Not a lot of people know about it," Carr explained, "but I'm surprised you don't."

"Why is that?"

"Well, because... his son's Nathan Wuornos. That's why Max came back to town. He and Garland Wuornos had been in a cold war for 25 years because Garland took Nathan in and raised him as his own."

"Nathan Wuornos is Max Hansen's son?" Don asked her, truly gobsmacked.

"He didn't tell you?" Julia asked, curious.

"No, he forgot to mention it," Don said sarcastically.

"Well, he only found out himself the day Hansen died. Guess it's not something he wants to share if he doesn't think it's relevant.

"So, Hansen came back to see Nathan?" Jack asked her.

She gave them a cynical look, "What I hear, Max Hansen was a thug and a straight up bastard. He didn't come to see Nathan. He ran around making sure everyone knew he was back in town. And then he made sure that _Audrey_ found out about his condition, knowing _she'd_ tell Nathan. I mean, she and Duke can add two and two."

"Duke?"

"Yeah. Audrey spoke to Hansen because of Duke."

"You're sure?" Jack asked her.

She nodded. "I saw him that morning. Hansen went to see him and he was freaked out about some tattoo on his arm."

"You saw Duke in the morning after Hansen had been to see him?"

She nodded. "At Audrey's. We had our usual fight. When I was a kid, I thought he was great, you know? He was the older, cool guy who'd travelled the world. That was before I realised he made his living smuggling and breaking people's kneecaps."

"So, Duke saw Hansen and then he went to see Audrey?"

"Yeah," Julia said, "he was doing what he usually did when something went wrong."

"What's that?" Jack asked her.

"Run straight to Parker," she replied, as though it was self-evident. "She was just about his closest friend. Well, only friend."

Don closed his eyes in disbelief. "Duke and Audrey were friends?" he asked her, trying to remain calm.

"Yeah. She's about the only person I know he hadn't pissed off enough to tell him to get lost. Where Duke's concerned, it's like she's unpissoffable. Woman has the patience of a damn saint."

"So, Duke went to see Audrey. Then what?"

"Audrey went straight off to talk to Hansen. Big scene in the Gull. Lissa saw it all. Said Audrey accused Max Hansen of some old murder."

"Lissa? You mean, Lissa Farrow? Works in the restaurant?"

"Yeah."

"What murder?" Jack asked her, suddenly. "You said Parker accused Hansen of murder. Whose?"

"Old cold case she and Duke have been working on. Colorado Kid murder. 1983. Vince or Dave could tell you about it."

"Thank you," Jack said, genuinely.

Don looked at her thoughtfully, "Do you know who else Hansen went to see that day?"

"Not sure, though some people in the Rev's congregation told me he went to the church that afternoon."

"The Rev?"

"Reverend Ed Driscoll. Don't know him that well: bit damnation and hellfire for me. My mother hated him. If he was on one side of the street, she'd cross to the other."

"Well, thanks again, Doctor Carr," Don thanked her. "You've been unbelievably helpful."

Cooper and Pistone left the hospital and stood for a moment in the parking lot as their brains fought to catch up with the information they'd been given.

"We need to speak to the Rev," Don said finally, "and the Teagues."

"You don't want to confront Audrey," Jack asked him, surprised.

"Do you?"

"No, I think it's a bad idea. But aren't you all for the direct approach?"

"Normally, yes, but we're missing something. If Audrey tipped Duke..."

"Oh, she did," alleged Jack, "I'm sure. I don't know how he got out before the roadblock but she's definitely the one who tipped him. She's been protecting him this whole time."

"Why so certain?"

"Why did we just spend a week in Boston?"

"Because of Sawyer's call. We thought it might have been a misdirect."

"Oh, it was. But Sawyer's so addled he gave away the game. Who suggested the whole thing might have been an elaborate plan to convince us that Duke _wasn't_ in Boston when he actually _was_?"

"Parker," Don swore.

"And when we didn't take the bait?"

"She told us about his mythical days at Harvard," Don realised. "We've been played. And not by Duke."

"Yep. Remember exactly what she said? That she thought that maybe he said once that possibly he went to an Ivy League school that may have been Harvard."

Don groaned, "So the most we could accuse her of..."

"...is having a bad memory," Jack finished. "And when we didn't leave then?"

"The flowers."

"She played us," concluded Jack, "I don't know how she managed it but she played us. And she did it very well."

"Too well," concluded Don, "Let's find out who we're really dealing with. Because it's definitely not the hokey small town cop she's been pretending to be."


End file.
